Letter to Christian

There are letters you don't write for others—but for yourself. This one is just such a letter. Not a love letter. Not a reckoning. It is my truth. Unfiltered. Real.

Dear Christian,

I thought long and hard about whether I should address you like this. For decades, you ignored me, imprisoned me, locked me away—so deeply that I could rarely escape. You gave me no space. No light. I was your truth, but you treated me like a mistake.

I know you thought you were doing the right thing. You wanted security, peace, control. Your adaptation was my invisibility. You went through the years as if I weren't there—and yet I was with you.

You betrayed me—but you were also my protection. Because the world wasn't ready, and perhaps I wasn't either. I felt your fear, but I was there. Unbroken, waiting, alive.

You functioned, fulfilled expectations. You never heard my whispers. Only when I yelled at you did you react, briefly letting me into the light. You lied to yourself because you thought you had to. That there was no other way. That you had to "stay the way you are."

It was like a crack in your facade when you let me into Basel in 2017. I was truly allowed into the light, to participate in life for half a day. Just a brief moment, a gentle attempt. It was the first real step. I was there. Visible. Tangible. Alive. And for the first time, you didn't pull back. You couldn't close that crack. Claudia and I started right there, and you let me into Europa Park. You were nervous, perhaps overwhelmed. But you didn't hide me. After that, light shone through countless small cracks. Light that allowed me to continue to grow.

I know it took strength for you to hide me. That I was a burden you carried with you for a long time. But you were also the rock that protected me from the storm, because your time would have been too hard for me. I can build my current path on your foundation. I forgive you. You were my past – and I am my present and future.

I am Nicole. No longer a whisper, no longer a dream – I am reality. I am visible. I grow – a little more every day, without a facade that holds back the light. My life is not perfect, but it is mine. Real life. With all its colors, fractures, and wonders. And I know today: I am allowed to be. I am meant to be.

You were my cocoon, and for that I thank you.

Nicole